


spirits in my head

by ADreamingSongbird



Category: Stormlight Archive - Brandon Sanderson
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, kaladin just needs a hug ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 13:28:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7106791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ADreamingSongbird/pseuds/ADreamingSongbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kaladin and Syl stop to rest for a night on the way back to Hearthstone. (Post WoR.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	spirits in my head

He must be halfway back to Hearthstone by now.  It’s been a long day of falling, falling, and more falling, along with that one attempt at not stopping for lunch and eating while in the sky that ended terribly and shall never be mentioned again.  Except for when Syl brings it up to make fun of him, which Kaladin is sure she will _constantly_ , but at least she was the only one around to witness that.

But most of the spheres he carries are dun now, and anyway he’s exhausted, and he figures it’s _probably_ a bad idea to try to fly while asleep, not to mention that glowing figures shooting by overhead are a lot more noticeable against the night sky, so long story short, he’s made camp for the night.

The Weeping is over, but according to the dates Shallan gave him before he left, there will be no highstorm due for another two days.  Tonight has been mostly clear, if a little chilly, and as he finishes the last of his dinner, alone under the stars, Kaladin can almost let himself believe the world isn’t at all close to falling apart at the seams.  It’s peaceful, dark and serene.  Out here, everything is so still—it’s almost hard to believe that somewhere out beyond this little grassy valley, the Everstorm is raging, ready to transform more parshmen into monsters.  It’s almost hard to think of all the people who might die.  It’s almost hard to believe the battle on the Shattered Plains even happened.

Almost.

“Go to sleep,” Syl pipes up, breaking the hush fallen over their little camp.  She flutters around his head in the guise of a moth for a moment before fluttering into silver mist that coalesces into her usual form, crossing her arms at him.  She shines in the moonlight, her little face looking on disapprovingly.

“I will, soon,” he answers, shrugging.  There’s a lot on his mind.  The breeze gently stirs the tall grass that surrounds their clearing, making a soft rustling sound that vaguely reminds him of the sea.

“No, I mean go to sleep _now_ ,” she corrects.  “You’re moping again.  You get that look on your face every time.  You’re tired, just rest!”

Kaladin frowns.  “I am _not_ moping.”

Syl laughs that merry tinkling laugh of hers, the nerve of her.  “Sure, Kaladin, and it’s also daytime.”

He grumbles, waving a tired arm at her.  “I was just _thinking_.”

“Is there a difference with you?”

“Oh, you’re _insufferable_ ,” he mutters, groaning as he reaches for his bedroll—even though he was used to sleeping on the ground as a slave, Dalinar had raised an eyebrow when he tried leaving without one, and it wasn’t worth the argument—and spreads it out behind him.  “Happy now?”

“You mean, I’m delightful, wise, and always right,” Syl corrects. “And yes!  But I’ll be even happier when you lie down on it and close those pretty blue eyes of yours.”

Kaladin must have flinched at the mention of his eyes—he _still_ isn’t used to this, to being a lighteyes now, to what it might mean about whether darkeyes can be their equals or not—because she immediately softens.

“Oh,” she says.  “Too soon for teasing about that, I guess.  Sorry, Kal.”

“It’s fine,” he grunts, flopping back on the bedroll.  Storms, he really _is_ tired.  He didn’t notice it as much until he lay down, but… ugh.  Sleep won’t be hard to come by tonight, not after using up all that Stormlight to get this far.

“Get some rest,” Syl instructs, her voice losing a bit of its teasing edge to replace it with something fond and warm.  “I’ll be close by, so I’ll wake you up if anything happens!”

“Mkay,” he mutters, closing his eyes. “G’night, Syl.”

He’s not sure if she responds or not, because his world is already fading away into the sweet blackness of slumber.

* * *

Kaladin hasn’t been asleep for too long, by his estimation, when he hears a voice gently urging him. 

_“Kaladin, Kal, wake up! Kaladin, someone’s coming!”_

Syl.

His eyes open instantly as he sits up, instantly on guard.  Syl flits above him in the form of a swirl of silver mist.  She doesn’t seem to be too alarmed, which puts him somewhat at ease, but he doesn’t know who she woke him up about.  “Who’s there?”

She doesn’t answer.  Instead, the tall grass next to him rustles, and his eyes narrow.  He glances upward, but Syl looks content, not worried, and definitely not like she’s about to shift into a spear and jump into his hand.  Well, he trusts her judgment.  If this isn’t a threat, he doesn’t need to jump straight into a battle stance.  He forces himself to let go of some of the habitual tension that built up in his body, just watching as the grass waves again, someone moving through it.  It’s tall enough that if he were to walk through, his head would only barely clear the stalks; whoever is coming must be smaller than him.

He’s theorizing as to who might be out here—he’d picked this spot because of its isolation, even though it gave him poor visibility—when a voice chirps, “Kaladin?”

His breath catches in his throat.  He _knows_ that voice.

“Wh…” he tries, but his voice gets stuck and won’t come out as anything other than a sharp, strangled inhale.

It _can’t_ be.

It can’t be—he was dead he _held him_ there was no pulse he was _dead_ —

The grass parts as a dark-haired head pops out, followed by a slender body and it’s _him_.  Kaladin would know him anywhere.  It’s him.

_“Tien?”_

He manages to at least say that much, whispering the name to the wind.  He stares at the boy and Tien stares back, his eyes going wider and wider, while Kaladin feels his mind start to whirl a thousand miles a minute— _how is Tien here how did this happen what is happening is he okay_ —and then Tien breaks the silence with a joyous shout.

“I _knew_ I could find you!” he cries, rushing forward to fling himself at Kaladin.  Kaladin barely has any time to react before somehow, his little brother’s warm, solid form has collided with his chest and Tien’s arms are wrapped around his shoulders and _Stormfather, he’s alive._   He’s breathing and Kaladin can feel a heartbeat next to his own, and… and…

After a moment of no response, Tien shifts.  “Kal?” He looks up at him anxiously, with big worried eyes and Kaladin is vaguely aware of a need to comfort his little brother penetrating the thick layer of shock that’s dulling his mind.  “Kal, say something, are you okay?”

“I…” Kaladin struggles, trying to find words.  _Breathe,_ Syl reminds him gently, barely more than a whisper on the breeze, and that helps; he takes a deep breath, then finds that his mind has caught up at least a little bit, enough that he stops being frozen and crushes Tien against himself and buries his face in that soft black hair.  “Oh, storms, Tien…”

Tien relaxes in his arms, letting out a sigh of relief.  Kaladin holds him close, cradling him despite the awkward way his legs are still under the top of his bedroll and Tien’s legs are folded beneath him and the two of them are just smushed together.  Maybe Tien’s knee is digging into his thigh, but this is—this is perfect.  This is all he’s wanted for so long.  Tien, Tien, Tien…

“I missed you,” the smaller boy mumbles, breaking the silence.  His voice is slightly muffled by Kaladin’s shirt, cobalt blue and smooth, breathable but warm material.  A gift, from Adolin’s extensive collection.  He can feel Tien’s fingers gently rubbing slow circles against his back.

“I missed you too,” Kaladin replies, feeling his eyes start to water.  He doesn’t care.  If any occasion is worth crying for, having Tien back is it. “I missed you so much, I— _Stormfather_ , Tien, I’m so _sorry_ , I p-promised you—“

Tien shakes his head vehemently against Kaladin’s shoulder. “Stop,” he says, his voice low and trembling. “Don’t blame yourself, it wasn’t your fault.  I—I… You _tried_ , you were coming to help me… It wasn’t your fault, okay?”

Kaladin doesn’t say anything for a long moment.  It _was_ his fault, he thinks; he was supposed to protect Tien, and he failed.

“Please, Kal,” Tien begs plaintively, “don’t blame yourself for it?  I can’t bear the thought that you—you’ve been telling yourself it was your fault for so long—it—I…”  He trails off, sounding distinctly upset.  The distress in his tone wrenches at Kaladin’s heart, and he tightens his arms as if he can protect Tien now, keep him safe from Kaladin’s inner demons.  It’s not fair for them to hurt Tien, too.

“Would that make you happy?” Kaladin asks, his voice low and a bit raw.

Tien looks up quickly, nearly hitting his head on Kaladin’s chin.  “You mean—if you would stop blaming yourself for me getting hurt?” he asks, eyes shining a bit too brightly to not be teary. “Yes.  That would make me very, _very_ happy.”

And then he smiles.

Kaladin’s breath catches in his throat again.  How long has it been since he’s seen that smile?  He doesn’t want to think about it, about all this time he’s gone thinking Tien was dead, about any of it.  Tien is here and that’s all that matters, and just as always, he manages to chase away the shadows of doubt and gloom.

“Okay,” he says softly. “If it makes you happy.”

Tien’s smile broadens. “It does,” he says.  Then he shifts, scooting so that he’s leaning against Kaladin’s side with his legs stretched over his lap, head cozily tucked into the crook of Kaladin’s shoulder.  Kaladin leans his cheek against Tien’s temple.  Tien hums softly.  “You’re coming home now, right?”

“Yeah,” Kaladin says.  It occurs to him suddenly that Tien doesn’t know about Syl, or the Shattered Plains, or the Everstorm, or any of it, if Tien has been at home this entire time.  So much has happened…  The scars on his forehead seem to throb.  He’ll have to explain those at some point.  He’s surprised Tien hasn’t asked yet.  Maybe he hasn’t noticed yet.  It’s dark, and Kaladin’s hair is a mess.

But… Tien doesn’t know about the return of the Knights Radiant, either.  A small grin finds its way onto Kaladin’s face at that thought.

“Yeah,” he repeats, “and I have a hell of a way of getting there to show you in the morning.”

“What?  You mean walking?  I don’t see any horses or carts or chulls around here,” Tien says, wrinkling his nose wryly.  Kaladin affectionately ruffles his hair.

“ _Way_ better than walking, carts, or especially horses,” he says.  “You’ll just have to see, though.  It’s a surprise.  And a long story.”

Tien laughs.  “Okay,” he says, the lingering grin on his face bringing warmth to Kaladin’s heart. “Guess I can’t get it out of you, can I?”

“Nope,” Kaladin grins.  Then the mirth dissipates and he frowns as a thought occurs to him, his mind abruptly shifting gears.  “Tien… I thought you were _dead_.”

Tien goes still at his side, laughter dying on his face.  The smile fades.

“Yeah,” he says in a small voice.

“How… how are you here?”

“I…”  Tien takes a deep breath, then lets it out slowly.  “Can I tell you in the morning?  When you show me your cool traveling methods?  I… I’m sorry, Kal, I don’t like thinking about it a lot, and if I have to, I’d rather do it in the daytime…”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Kaladin says quickly, giving the boy a squeeze.  “Sorry.  I didn’t mean to push right now.”  _No_ , he corrects himself, _not a boy.  He’s eighteen now.  He’s grown so much._    It occurs to him that while Tien has missed much of his recent experiences, he’s missed so much of Tien’s life now, too.  He doesn’t know how to feel about that.  It’s strange, for sure.

“It’s okay,” Tien says, and there it is, the smile again.  “How about this, I’ll tell you everything in the morning, and you do the same!  We can do a story trade.”

Kaladin thinks about the burnt scars on his forehead, hidden right now by the darkness and his hair.  He wonders what Tien will think of those, again.  He wonders what Tien will think of all of it.   “Yeah,” he says softly.  “We can trade stories in the morning.”

Part of him is still in awe that Tien is here, right here, not dead, in his arms.  That part takes over for a moment again and he pulls his little brother closer, resting his chin atop his head.  This is good.  _Storms_ , but he’s missed this, missed Tien.

Tien leans into him, his head finding Kaladin’s shoulder, and sighs contentedly.  “I knew I’d find you,” he says again, sounding satisfied. “’M glad I did.”

“Me too,” Kaladin smiles, a real, sincere smile.  Above him, he feels more than hears Syl radiate her approval.

After a moment, Tien yawns and Kaladin laughs.

“Have you been on your feet all night?” he asks, mildly accusing, and Tien grins sheepishly in response.

“Not _all_ night,” he says. “Just, uh, maybe _most_ of it.”

Kaladin shakes his head.  “Well, I only have one bedroll, so we’re gonna have to share,” he says.  “C’mon.  Bedtime.  No arguments.”

“Only if you get some sleep too,” Tien answers, already sliding into the bedroll. “I woke you up, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but I’m glad you did,” Kaladin tells him fondly.  “Hey, in the morning, you should also tell me how you found me…”

“In the morning,” Tien promises.  Now that he’s listening for it, Kaladin can hear the exhaustion in his voice.  Storms, he relates.  He’s exhausted in his bones, too.  He sinks into the bedroll again, tangled up with his little brother this time, and drapes an arm over Tien.

“Mm,” he agrees. “In the morning.  G’night.”

Tien mumbles something that might be a “good night”, smiling slightly.  Kaladin closes his eyes, his last coherent thought that oh, that smile is more precious than any emerald broams.  The best sight to fall asleep to.  He’s looking forward to the morning.

* * *

He jolts awake, a lump in his throat for a reason he cannot place.

“Kaladin?” Syl drifts into view.  “Everything okay?  Dawn is another hour or so off.”

“Where’d Tien go?” he asks groggily.  His bedroll is empty save for himself.  “…and why didn’t I wake up, when ‘e went somewhere?”

“What?”  Syl blinks in surprise.  It’s a mannerism she’s picked up from watching people.  “Tien?”

Even as understanding washes over her like a gentle wave and she murmurs “oh…”, it hits him with the force of a Shardplate-enhanced punch to the gut.

Tien was never here.

It was a dream.

(Again.  It’s always a dream.  How is it that when he’s asleep, he never remembers the countless times he’s dreamt of Tien before?)

“Kaladin,” Syl murmurs, floating closer.  There’s soft sadness in her voice, and sympathy, but storm it he doesn’t want pity.  He draws his knees to his chest and takes a deep breath, swallowing hard.  It had felt so damn _real_ …

But now that he thinks about it, it explains why Tien appeared so suddenly, when logically he couldn’t have.  It explains why Syl barely interacted with him when if she ever met Tien she’d be bursting with joy and questions and wanting to talk to him.  It explains why Tien hadn’t told him how he’d survived, because Kaladin himself had replayed that moment in his head thousands of times, trying to find a way, and he’d never found one, so of course he couldn’t think of an explanation in his dream.

It makes too much sense to have been anything but a dream.

He thinks he hates himself for being able to so logically destroy that one thin hope again.

(Tien _couldn’t_ have survived.  Kaladin held him, held that small, broken body with no pulse and no breath.  He was gone and that was—that _is_ —a fact.  It can’t be changed.  No matter how many damn times he dreams this same dream.)

Humorlessly, he wonders if he should also hate himself _because_ he hates himself, and that’s going against all of Tien’s wishes.  Even dream-Tien asked him to be kinder to himself.  Said that that would make him happy, smiled that damn Tien smile that always made him melt.

His eyes are prickling again, and if they aren’t in the sky, he can’t pretend it’s because of the wind.

“Let’s go,” he says roughly, standing and folding the bedroll.  “I’m not tired anymore.”

It’s a lie and they both know it.

“Will you at least tell me about it?” Syl asks, concern and reproach mingling in her tone. “You shouldn’t bottle these things up.”

“I’m fine,” he says, not looking at her as he swings his traveling pack over one shoulder. “I just want to move on.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> so uh who else cried when they read the flashback when Tien died? ;n;
> 
> I am so emotional about this series and these characters and aaaahhh. It came out as angst fic. I really wanted to write a cheesy reunion but I also wanted to stay canon compliant, so... this happened... I am sorry Kaladin.
> 
> "Spirits" by the Strumbellas is where I got the title from!! I was listening to it while reading the Way of Kings last week and it sort of stuck with me.


End file.
